


A Man Is Not His Song

by dawnstone



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Andrastianism (Dragon Age), Background Celene/Briala, Canon-Typical Violence, Elves, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Intrigue, Jaws of Hakkon, Loss, Man Out of Time, Past Relationship(s), Politics, Post-Death in the Family, Spirit Cole (Dragon Age), The Seekers of Truth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnstone/pseuds/dawnstone
Summary: Inquisitor Ameridan survived his long ordeal with Hakkon. Now, he must confront the new realities of the world he was forced to leave behind, and what his absence cost all of those he cared for. A year later, filled with renewed purpose, he counts his blessings, and finds a kindred spirit in Inquisitor Lucia Lavellan.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SeigePhoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeigePhoenix/gifts).



> Title is from the song by Feist - https://youtu.be/lXgi-H5BS8M
> 
> Worldstate is post-Corypheus, and assumes that Leliana is Divine, Celene rules with Briala, and Cassandra is rebuilding the Seekers of Truth. 
> 
> As Ameridan has survived and they need only one Inquisitor, he has temporarily joined the Seekers to co-lead with Cassandra and aid with reform. He is being called Lord Seeker during this time, as, for the purposes of this fic, Cassandra is trying to bring mages into the Seekers of Truth, and believes he'll set a good precedent.
> 
> I have made up some elvish terms and names as needed, as the existing canon dictionary is not large; translations are in the end note. 
> 
> Also, thanks to Theneras for beta services. :D
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“Inquisitor. Her Worship will see you now.”

Ameridan nodded, a tumble of images flashing through his mind, at hearing that title, remembering the woman he’d finally get to see again—hers the first face he’d seen in so long, waking in the dark and cold, his spell unravelling faster and faster, a strange chant intoning behind him.

He remembered the dragon, how it breathed again, above him. Cold, so very cold.

A long, confusing, thankless year had passed, since Inquisitor Lavellan rescued him from Hakkon. First-thaw, was what the Avaar called her. An apt enough legend-mark.

Much recovered from his long ordeal, Ameridan strode the halls of the Winter Palace with a renewed sense of purpose. He'd had a long ride out from the Seeker's outpost in the Hunterhorn Mountains where he’d been working with Seeker Pentaghast.

The Inquisition page leading him had smiled and bowed when he arrived, scarcely an hour previous, warmth and respect which Ameridan much appreciated. After months of catching up with history, and experiencing some of the worst Drakon’s people had to offer, it was good to talk to a human who looked at him like a person, and not an artifact, an inconvenient reminder of the Chantry’s misdeeds.

“Her Worship seemed excited to know you’d arrived, my lord. She’s asked for a bottle of wine to be brought up. Though, that might be for later, of course.” Later, with whom, the page didn’t offer to share, leaving the suggestion hanging that Ameridan himself might stay late with her.

“I am sad to say I am not visiting simply for the Inquisitor’s most pleasant company.” Wine would not be unwelcome, considering the dire nature of the topics they had to address, however.

“Ah, you could have fooled me, my lord, those are some nice togs you’ve got. The Lady Seeker always shows up in her uniform, even if she’s meant to be enjoying herself.”

“I believe Seeker Pentaghast enjoys wearing the uniform, regardless of the event, _ma falon_.” Cassandra's devotion was nothing short of inspiring; she had worked tirelessly, since they’d set about trying to restore the Seekers of Truth. They were still working on a new charter, and evaluating recruits, mostly from the Templar Order, but with a few mages, too. Mages might not be able to undergo identical training, but they could certainly be tested. Many of the Templars who wanted to join them were unfit for the duty, unfortunately.

Lyrium use ravaged the ranks, as Telana had predicted it would. His wife had always been wiser than most, and so stubborn... Not that it had saved either of them from their fates.

“True that, Inquisitor. Or is it Lord Seeker? The seneschal didn’t seem to know.”

Ameridan laughed. “I will answer to either, if it helps. If the Maker needs me to be a Seeker for now, so be it.” The people of this age might not remember it, but mages had often worked beside the Seekers in his time. He was not the first mage named Inquisitor over the Seekers, only the last.

He chose not to wear his uniform here, because his business for the next few days was both personal and political, nothing to do with the order. Ameridan dressed for the occasion—in traditional elven finery, green and gold with a long, embroidered vest and flowing sleeves. The clothes were a gift from Clan Ghilain, his descendants.

After months of bed rest and reading, taking walks, mourning and remembering, and writing many, many letters, he decided he was ready to be part of the world again. Most of the correspondence he’d kept up with arrived from Ambassador Montilyet, a few researchers from the University, Divine Victoria, Seeker Pentaghast, and Inquisitor Lavellan. Ameridan had yet to receive formal recognition from Empress Celene, but his new allies assured him it was coming.

His helping Cassandra rebuild the Seekers had meant for her the novelty of having not just a mage in their numbers, but an elf. It seemed everything he was, had become anathema to them in the time he was missing. If he wished to pray, he had to find his own altar.

He still found it unnerving how thoroughly the Chantry struck him and his people from their records. A pronouncement had come only recently, from Divine Victoria, declaring that the Chantry would reinstate the Canticle of Shartan to the Chant.

 _If you would live, and live without fear, you must fight._ So said Shartan. Little wonder they tried to hide it.

His heart anguished that for so many years, the elves were bereft of their own part of the Chant, forced to renounce their own gods.

_Eight-hundred years..._

Passing through an overwrought human palace built on conquered lands, wasn’t the first time he’d had the foul thought—Maker forgive him, Mythal bless—that it might have been better that the dragon took its due from Orlais.

Ameridan tried to clear his mind of such contempt, while the page opened one of the double doors for him. He inhaled deeply and exhaled, trying to dispel his last bit of tension, and entered the suite of rooms the Empress had loaned the Inquisitor. In the tall, richly furnished chamber, every seat cushion and curtain was upholstered and draped in purest white, the room perfumed with sweet embrium.

Inquisitor Lavellan already had guests, much to his surprise. Marquise Briala and Ambassador Montilyet sat to either side of her, while the Inquisitor stood, arms behind her back as if she’d been explaining something, or had been pacing.

A smile broke over her face, as her eyes met his. Ameridan didn’t mean for his breath to catch, but she was a striking woman—her golden hair twisted in braids neatly atop her head, her green eyes bright and sharp. Wearing the Inquisition's formal black and red uniform, she held an aura of command. “Ameridan,” she said, “I’m glad you could come.”

“Welcome back to Halamshiral, Inquisitor Ameridan,” said the ambassador, her bright Antivan accent always a pleasure to hear. Josephine stood up to curtsy and smiled in such a way that he truly felt welcome.

Marquise Briala’s demeanor was almost chilly in comparison. Outranking everyone in the room, she did not move from her seat, but rather nodded at him in greeting. “It is good to finally see you in person, Lord Ameridan. I have heard your work in the Hunterhorns is going well.”

“As well as can be expected. I am pleased to meet you, too, Your Grace.” He gave her a quick half-bow, before turning to the ambassador.

“Excellent to see you as well, Ambassador Montilyet. Your advice in acquiring funding for the Seekers new home has been of immeasurable help.”

“You have but to ask if you need more assistance, my lord. I am afraid I must be going, however. I do hope we meet again, soon. If you will excuse me, Your Worship, Your Grace.” The ambassador bowed to each and took her leave.

The Marquise nodded and gave the barest hint of a smile from beneath her half-mask. “I must depart, as well. Lucia has told me what you have planned for tomorrow. I expect your trip will be fascinating.”

“You could always join us,” said the Inquisitor, an edge to her voice, as if Briala had already rejected such an invitation once before.

“Perhaps another time. Be well, both of you.” The Marquise smoothed her dress as she stood and glided out of the room with uncanny grace.

An elven servant carrying a bottle of wine and a platter covered in fruit and cheeses, took advantage of the open door, moments after Briala departed.

“Where shall I set them, Your Worship?”

“On the desk is fine, Viola. I shouldn’t need you again until the evening bell.” The woman nodded and arranged her delivery on the portion of the huge white-painted desk which wasn’t completely buried in books and parchments and then left them alone. “Please, have a seat. I’m going to open this bottle, if you don’t mind. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to use these fancy crystal glasses. Enchanted against poison by Madame de Fer herself, as a gift. One can never be too careful when you’re surrounded by people caught up in the Game.”

“Heh, little has changed, in that regard. It is good you have friends looking out for you.” He took the seat that the ambassador occupied previously, which allowed him both a view of the door, and the ornamental garden in the courtyard. If he had been so inclined, he was also close enough to peek at the Inquisitor’s correspondence.

“Did you have any trouble on the way here? She handed him a glass, and then sat down at her desk, turning over a parchment so she could rest her drink upon it.

“A little. Though the Inquisition emblem on my armor likely averted most of it. For the rest, well, there are fewer bandits outside Montfort, now.”

Her wry smile carried the weight of having had similar experiences. “I’m certain the Empress will be pleased. How are you holding up? You said there were still a few lingering effects.”

“Well enough. As I told you before, the cold seems like it’s gotten into my bones. I’ve found keeping moving helps with that. And the Veil—it’s much thinner than I remember it. I suspect it’s weakening, though, I’m not entirely sure how that’s possible with all of your efforts. It might be the combination of wars, Blights and the erosion of time.” So much had passed him by.

She nodded gravely. “The Breach did a great deal of damage, so perhaps that is what you are sensing. One of my former companions showed us how to strengthen it in certain areas, but that method is reliant on a limited pool of old elven artifacts.” Lucia wasn’t a mage, but she’d been dealing with the practical effects of the shredded parts of the boundary between worlds, for several years. He couldn’t discount her observation, but part of him feared there might be more to what he sensed.

“Perhaps. I am glad you could quell such a disaster. If I can ever assist in your duties, you have but to ask.” Perhaps she did not believe Andraste or the Maker sent her to them, but she certainly had survived a very unusual series of world-shaking events.

Lucia laughed and raised her glass to him. “I will never turn down a volunteer to cut down demons.”

“Or maleficarum, or dragons, or, Maker forbid, darkspawn.” The evil things pervading their world did not dwindle at all in number, while he was away.

She nodded, gesturing to the sky. “The Mark can close tears, but I can only close the ones I can reach. In the meantime anything on the other side gets dragged through. It can be frustrating.”

“It must be. By all appearances, you’ve done good work. Though, experience tells me people will forget quickly.”

“True, and that’s one of the reasons I asked you to come. I’ve convinced Celene to erect a memorial for the sacrifices you and your companions made. Except, I’m not sure what something like that should look like, or where the best location for it would be.” Lucia looked at him expectantly.

It took Ameridan a moment to understand what she meant.

A marker; a memorial for a small band who only wanted to protect people, futile though it might have been. Was it needed while he yet lived, to spread their tale?

Thinking on it made his chest feel tight, and he had to avert his gaze.

“Haron would say it was unnecessary, I think, but Orinna would want a statue as large as a Paragon’s. Something simple and in a quiet place—perhaps in a chapel, or a garden. Telana loved flowers. The people of Orlais deserve to know Telana and I were mages and elves, and that we served everyone. It was our mission to bring people together, despite great resistance from many corners. Do that, and I think their spirits will rest more peacefully—and mine, when I can finally rest.”

Memories flashed in his mind, of his small band, of their many trials. It took a long moment before he could look at her, again, for it still wounded him how they were forgotten.

The tears shining in her eyes reflected those in his own, and he had the sense that if the desk weren’t between them she might have embraced him. Sorrow weighed heavy on them both.

“It will be done, my friend,” she said. “As for the other matter…”


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, still suffering the mild effects of a bit too much wine—for their long discussion of the current political climate had required more than one bottle—Ameridan rode out to the hilly wilds beyond Halamshiral.

The region currently held the name of Emprise du Lion. He’d known it as _Fen’iras Inar_ —the Wolf’s Watch.

The group accompanying him consisted of Lucia, four of her men, a representative from Briala’s staff, and Lucia’s spirit companion, Compassion. Today they would meet with Clan Ghilain.

Ameridan’s grandfather’s first name had been Ghilain, as had Ameridan’s son's. He could guess why the Clan had not taken his name nor those of his parents. His mother, in their time, was an ambassador to the Orlesians, who encouraged his friendship with Drakon, and humans in general.

He could see his son despairing at what their dealings with Orlais had cost him—their family, the respect of his peers, many of whom distrusted and feared humans. The impetus to pull back, to resent Ameridan’s trust, and break fragile bonds, would have been all too easy.

Perhaps he’d been delaying the inevitable. Many of his people had accepted Andraste, for she had gifted them their home, but they would never abandon their own gods to worship the Maker alone. Drakon had understood, or at least tried to, even if the next emperor hadn't. If only Ameridan had been there to mediate, he could have…

But he wasn’t.

He did not feel bereft of hope, to know, to see his people persisted, despite the bloodshed and the hardship of centuries. They held on, by all accounts, clinging like ivy in every crevice and crack that would let them feel the light of the sun.

_Eight hundred years…_

His mouth tight, Ameridan fixed his gaze forward, ignoring Lucia’s concerned glances.

Waiting in the basin of a rocky valley, under a treeless, wind-scoured hill, was a circle of ten aravels; the halla which pulled them, grazed in a loosely-constructed pen, behind. He’d seen engravings of the landships, from the books Professor Kenric found for him while he recovered. Careful about his recommendations, the professor tried to steer him away from sources which cast the elves and the Dalish in a particular, as something closer to beasts than people.

Ameridan stumbled upon such things, despite his efforts. It was difficult not to.

Better to know, though, how he might be regarded, by both the humans and the Dalish, in advance.

The early summer sky was cloudless and the sun high, the vibrant red sails above the landships turned to their sides to offer shade. Several cookfires burned at the edges of the clearing, while wildflowers and fragrant herbs hung in streaming white, green, and gold garlands throughout the bustling camp. He noticed, too, just outside the wagons, watched by a wrinkled hahren with a spear and a pair of large hounds, a whole boar was roasting.

All of what was being prepared smelled incredibly enticing, and reminded him of the sort of simple fare he preferred and oft had made himself, while on the road.

With the blow of a polished ram’s horn, the armored scouts he’d seen from a distance, pacing on top of the barren hill above the camp, announced the Inquisition party’s arrival.

Much of the of the clan hurried to greet them. An old woman stood at the front of the crowd, dressed in formal Keeper’s robes, which apparently changed little in their design over the centuries. Bracketed by a pair of young mages, the rest of the clan’s elders fanned out behind her. Their faces ran the gamut from highly elated, to cool and suspicious. Many of them wore bright garb and new leathers, which spoke to him of recent prosperity.

He seemed to recall the Orlesian family whom had falsely claimed his name for so many years, was forced to make reparations to them by the Inquisition.

The Keeper stepped forward, her hand gripping her staff tightly, while they dismounted, as if she were nervous to meet them.

“ _Andaran atish’an._ I am Keeper Levinia. Clan Ghilain is honored to have you among us, Ameridan.” She was a plump woman, with straight grey hair, and dark bronze skin; her face bore June’s vallaslin, though her tattoo was much faded.

“ _Ar’garas astish’an_. I am honored to meet you all.”

Then Lucia stepped up beside him and removed her helm. The Keeper’s eyes widened as if in shock. “Lu—Inquisitor, it is with… great joy I receive you and your companions. Thank you for making this day possible. It is a great relief to us to finally have a clear account of what transpired so long ago.”

Lucia nodded, keeping her smile, though it seemed a little too tight. “Your invitation was impossible to deny, Keeper. I am glad to be here as well. Mine has been a long and difficult road, since the day Keeper Deshanna sent me to the Conclave. I have much to share.”

“I can only imagine how much. We shall speak of it later.” From her expression, he gathered the woman knew Lucia of old, and that she was soon to receive an earful from a respected elder.

“Yes, I expect we will. For now, let us celebrate. I’ve brought a few things from Skyhold’s stores. I hope you can make use of them.” Lucia gestured to a pack bronto waiting behind her, heavily-laden with sacks of grain, vegetables, and valuable herbs, rolls of cloth, and barrels marked as containing wine and beer. Not just a gift, but goods to help restore whatever stocks were diminished by their arrival.

“I most assuredly can, _da’len_. Come, your cousins are eager to see you.”

“Cousins?” Ameridan raised an eyebrow at Lucia, as the crowd enfolded them. Logically, he knew more than thirty generations had been born and died in the time he was gone, but it hadn’t sunk in, entirely. She hadn’t mentioned once she might be part of the clan descended from him. Or even that she was of the Dalish. He knew the elves in the cities no longer marked their faces as a display of their faith, but every adult he could see in the camp wore vallaslin, except Lucia.

“Distantly, if at all. Though, now that I think about it, I might be related to Levinia—my father’s mother was from Clan Dheraghil, and I’m fairly certain her mother was my great-grandmother’s sister—although, she might have been adopted. We’d still be related by marriage, but I’d have to ask her for the clan annals to confirm it. It’s likely they have a record of what part of your family they’re descended from, too.”

“My son. Our family was not large. Not then, anyway.” He smiled at the absurdity of it, for in a way, he had traveled in time.

“Ah.” He could see she wanted to ask more questions of him, but the festivities demanded their full attention.

Watching Lucia for the first time among her people, Ameridan had a few questions for her, too. She’d visited him both on Inquisition business and to inquire about his health many times, until he left for the Seeker stronghold in the west. Somehow, he’d come to know little about her or her family.

Soon, the feast began. He watched and listened, sitting cross-legged next to her on the ground near one of the central fires. One of the hunters juggled knives, and a piper played in the background, while the hearthmistress and her assistants distributed food via carved bowls and wooden platters; Lucia’s cousins, such as they were, approached them a few at a time to gossip, while the elders looked on.

None had seen her in several years, it seemed, and there was much to share—babes to show off, news from other clans, concerns about her being trapped among so many humans for so long. At one point, while he conversed quietly with one of the Keeper’s apprentices over certain details of the stasis spell he’d used on Hakkon, Lucia gained a more animated visitor.

She embraced the newcomer, and introduced the woman to him as Alais, the clan healer. Alais had a bright smile and resembled the Keeper closely, if slightly younger.

Her smile faded quickly. “Lucia, what happened to your face?” Ameridan had the immediate thought that the woman might have made a good Inquisitor. She was the sort who could see the questions no one else asked, and didn’t fear asking them.

As if she’d been waiting all night for it, Lucia gave a long, oddly frustrated sigh. “It’s a long, awful story, and I’d rather not discuss it. I promise you, you don’t want to know.”

The healer didn’t push the inquiry, though he could see she wanted to. How could one not be curious after such a rebuff? What sort of encounter could have cost her her vallaslin? The questions hung in the air, while Lucia frowned and shook her head. “Fair enough, _da’len_. How are Josan and the children, then? He must hate all this Inquisition business keeping you away. And Annariel must be what thirteen summers by now. Can’t imagine how tall she must be.”

Lucia grimaced, and her face fell again, though there was a different tenor to her expression, lacking any anger. “I—Alais, Josan... he died. It was an accident. He was out hunting and his band stumbled onto a wyvern. They got him home, but the poison had already taken hold. It’s been three years.”

There were gasps from other members of the clan who were surreptitiously listening in.

“What? Oh, _lethallan_ , I am so sorry. It’s been a bad few years. Mythal bless them, Clan Virnehn was hit by a demon, and we had to take in half their children. I’d heard rumors Clan Lavellan was faring poorly, too.” Alais took her hands and squeezed them, and Lucia leaned over into her shoulder.

“It’s true. The only thing that keeps me going some days, is knowing my children are safe. My advisors thought it best they go into hiding—and they were right. Clan Lavellan was massacred in Wycome. It happened so quickly, even with an army I could do little. Forty dead, six injured but alive, three still missing. The survivors have joined Clan Sabrae, for now, and Yalas and Annariel were already in Antiva, with their grandfather. It's been very hard.”

Ameridan, already shocked at her first admission, felt rage kindle in his gut at the second. He kept calm, and put his hand on her shoulder gently, not certain that she wanted comfort. Her expression when she looked up at him, though, was apologetic. He shook his head. “Lucia, I had no idea.”

“You have enough to deal with, Ameridan, I won't add to it.” Despair lurked in the back of her gaze, familiar and haunting.

Alais made a tutting sound. “A shared burden is always lighter, _da’len_. Shall I tell Levinia, or would you rather tell her yourself? I can feel her glaring at us over the fire for whispering. She’s getting hard of hearing, but don’t let her know I said as much.”

“I’ll tell her later on. I’d rather she enjoy the rest of the celebration; I’ll tell Mairen, too, he’ll get the news out to the other clans if they don’t already know. I’ve only been in contact with Hawen’s clan this year. The Arlathvhen will be soon, we can sort out everything then.”

The healer nodded, patted Lucia on the cheek gently, and moved to the other side of the fire to sit next to Keeper Levinia.

Ameridan realized then that he had never asked Lucia about her family, or anything of her personal life. As far as he had known, the Inquisition consumed the role for her. Yet, while she had comforted him as well as she could about Telana, his companions, his lost world, she carried her own pain, silently.

“That face you’re making is not what I should be seeing, _ma falon_. We came here to celebrate you coming back to us. We’ve all suffered, that’s nothing new.”

“Forgive me if I am troubled. I’ve been selfish not inquiring more about your life. Somehow, I know Seeker Pentaghast has in her quarters a shelf full of terrible novels, and that many of them are written by a dwarf from Kirkwall. I know your ambassador spends a great deal of ink merely sending bi-weekly messages admonishing her siblings. I even know that Marquise Briala both beds her Empress and plots rebellion under her nose—though, I haven’t been able to get any of her spies to tell me more. Why do I not know the simplest things about someone who has been so kind to me?”

Lucia chuckled and patted his hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps your ordeal rendered you too polite?”

“If anything, it has made me slow.”

“Leave it be. Tragedy will fall upon us soon enough, and you’ll get to see it, firsthand. We can at least enjoy this moment. You said something like that to me the first time we met.”

“So I did.” He’d thought his successor deserved some pithy advice. He hadn’t expected to survive to have it thrown in his face.

She had the right of it, of course. He would, however, ask her more when they were not in the midst of such festivities.

The music and dancing, after the feast, thankfully let him shake off the heaviness in his chest. It pleased him that he knew some of the songs, so he could sing along with the clan. Many voices raised together in chorus was always exhilarating, and the old songs in elvish were the easiest to remember.

The dances had changed, though—faster, less formal, but easy enough to pick up.

He took a turn with anyone who wished to teach him the steps, and didn’t make too much of a fool of himself; Lucia laughed at him a few times, as she demonstrated her considerable grace. Which, of course meant she had to teach him, too. Simple steps, one, two, hop, one, two, three, turn, her blade roughened hands in his, lively eyes taunting him. Nothing about Lucia was soft, but she moved like water.

Ameridan could feel the tingle of strange and ancient magic bound to her left palm, sometimes, and another warmer feeling, a joy which arose from just being near her.

He couldn’t help remembering when he and Telana would dance—how delicate she’d been in his arms, light as a feather floating on the breeze; behind her eyes had always flickered a barely contained energy, and the will of iron it took to keep it in check. The contrast always struck him as making Telana particularly beautiful, but then again, he was biased.

He missed her so much, sometimes every fiber of his being ached. A feeling he suspected Lucia knew all too well. Loss that carved everything out his heart that had meant anything.

“ _Ma serannas_.” The words slipped out as the music ended.

“You’re welcome. Though, I’m not sure what for.”

“For understanding.”

Lucia smiled, and bowed slightly. “Ever at your service, Lord Ameridan.”


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the night with Clan Ghilan turned toward more serious, and more mundane matters—much of which Ameridan wasn’t allowed to take part in. He was an anomaly, an outsider, and as such, while Lucia and the Keeper sat in a small circle with Briala’s representative, he could only speculate on their conversation.

He had a sense of what Briala valued, what her game was. Wooing the different clans for help to make her progress within the Empire more permanent, would be a challenge, it seemed. Particularly, considering how the Dalish looked down upon the elves of the cities. It didn’t hurt Briala’s cause to have Lucia on board, but her role as Inquisitor might eventually put them at odds with each other.

Ameridan watched as the clan members tidied their camp and tended the fires. Most took to their hammocks in the aravels, while a few others finished off the last tidbits of boar meat as they started the night's watch.

Under the stars, the camp grew quiet and peaceful but for the snap of logs on the fire and the chirping of crickets. He deemed it futile to fend off his drowsiness any further.

Settling down onto his bedroll, he felt the air change slightly nearby. 

Compassion appeared sitting next to him.

“A family. But not yours.” The spirit sounded confused by the complicated emotions swirling in his heart, for there was hope, but also pain.

Not long after they’d arrived, Compassion had wordlessly slipped away. Ameridan suspected it had been working through the camp all day. Few arguments had broken out, and while he’d expected insults thrown his way, they never came. Though, that could have been an effect of how close a proximity the Keeper had kept to him during much of the visit.

“Yes and no. If I think of them as my son’s children, I’m afraid for them. But they don’t need me, or my concern. Ghilain was strong, and he was proud, and he resented Telana and I for putting our lives in danger and leaving him behind. He was twenty when we left for the last time.”

“Drakon says they’re gone. Dead, no bodies found. I don’t believe him. I’ll never believe it.”

As always, it unnerved him to hear a spirit pick out thoughts and feelings from ages gone. His son’s pain must have been great indeed.

“I suppose I should ask the Keeper what she knows of his life. I missed so much.”

“She didn’t think you’d come. Too strange, too silly; so many of the People despise you.”

“My disappearance didn’t do them any favors.”

Compassion nodded. “Drakon didn’t want you to fail. But he knew someday he’d have to kill you. You weren’t wrong to try.”

A cold, prickling feeling like despair washed over him. “I…”

He could have lived not knowing that.

“That didn’t help.”

“No. Perhaps you could tell me about Lucia, instead.” Spirits, he’d found, were indiscriminate in what they shared, as long as it touched upon their purpose. Best to be direct, else it would pluck something unpleasant out of his life unprompted. A spirit like Compassion might be good in intention, but it required people to feel pain for it to give comfort.

“She wishes she hadn’t eaten the cheese. It always hurts her belly, but she likes the taste too much.”

Ameridan chuckled. “Rich food seldom agrees with me, either. Did she enjoy herself otherwise?”

“Everyone looking at my face. I can’t tell them. I won’t hurt them like that.”

“She’ll have to tell them, eventually. Whatever it is.” Something painful, it would seem, too.

“Yes. They'll all know, soon. The dancing made her remember other dances. So much lost, but kind. She thinks you’d dance well.”

In following the trajectory of Compassion's meandering observations, and realizing what he was actually talking about, Ameridan's face flushed. He hadn't asked that precisely, but he’d known the spirit might pick up on both his impulses and any reciprocation of such feelings. 

“Lovemaking doesn’t solve everything,” he sighed. More often, it thoroughly complicated a situation.

“For some people it helps them forget.”

“Not all.”

“No, not all. But she wants to.”


	4. Chapter 4

They rode back to Halamshiral the next morning, with thanks from the Keeper for the many gifts, and blessings for their continued safety.

Now that Lucia knew he could carry a tune, she made him take turns with her doing verses from various Dalish ballads. Eventually, they moved on to tavern ditties and the occasional Andrastian hymn, so the others could join in. For some songs, he knew the music, but not the new words. Once or twice he taught them the other set of lyrics, but only if they were better.

Ameridan almost felt sad to see the city gates on the horizon; they both had matters which needed their attention, though.

His trip here was not just to meet with Lucia, or Clan Ghilain, but to interview recruits—usually Templars who had grown dissatisfied with the previous direction of their order, but wanted to serve again—and also socialize with the pious merchants and concerned nobles worried that both the templars and mages were still out of control. Assuaging their doubts could help keep a steady stream of funds going to the Seekers.

Cassandra demanded he handle it, as she hated parties, and suggested that he bring the Inquisitor along with him; she claimed Lucia could charm the horns off a dragon, and the Orlesians loved her. He looked forward to seeing that charm in action, but for now they would have to part.

Waiting for him, in the blue and gold painted two-room suite they had granted him from the Inquisition’s coffers, were the pair of masked elves assigned to serve him. The first, an elderly, but spry secretary named Gavin, had mainly been assisting him in his correspondence; the other, a young maid named Shirana, who, while she carried out her duties well, seemed disappointed he wasn’t the kind to abuse his position.

Relief stole over him to see a steaming bath already drawn and waiting, but he also could not miss the precarious stack of new letters arranged in order of importance on the gilded desk nearby. Satisfied he wouldn’t need their help for a while, Ameridan excused them both.

Once refreshed, he sat down to the scrolls and gilded envelopes he'd received, looking for a particular heart-shaped seal with the Pentaghast arms. Cassandra had promised to send a detailed report when the first batch of her new recruits arrived. She’d claimed, before he left, that she expected to reject them all.

Perhaps one or two made the cut.

Reading, humming a lively tune Lucia had taught him, about a bandit girl who lived life to the fullest, he felt a shift in the air behind him.

Ameridan cast a barrier without looking back, already casting his next spell as he leapt from his chair.

He caught only a glimpse of the masked figure—a thin man dressed in a harlequin's suit—then the desk and its contents exploded into flaming splinters beside him. Explosive arrow, or crossbow bolt, it didn’t particularly matter—Ameridan's barrier took the brunt. The assassin only had time for a single gasp as the return attack encased him in ice.

Knocked off of his feet, Ameridan rolled towards the cover of a nearby statue.

His problem dealt with itself, however; the force of the explosion had blown back on the assassin and shattered his frozen form where he stood.

Glancing around for more attackers, Ameridan coughed from the dust and smoke and grimaced, seeing the bloody fragments of iced assassin. Such carnage wasn’t unfamiliar, but always unpleasant. He brushed himself off and grabbed his staff, having heard shouting in the hall outside.

Pushing past a servant and a pair of guards who had come to investigate the sound, he ran as fast as he could toward Lucia’s quarters, nearly running past her in the hallway.

“Ameridan!” Lucia stopped from her sprint as she spotted him, and her feet slid on the tiles.

Rounding back, he closed the distance between them.

“Are you hurt?” He looked her over anxiously, at first, seeing only the spatters of blood on her white silk robe. She looked like she’d taken a terrible blow.

In her hands, though, were two bloodied daggers, which shimmered with magic, the runes still active.

Her eyes swept over him, too, wide with concern. “No. There were two assassins. Not contractors from the House of Repose, at least, if I counted the diamonds on the uniform right. They’re dead.”

“They only sent one for me. I feel neglected.” True, he wasn’t in his prime any longer, but he doubted he’d have to hold a god-dragon in place for several centuries, again.

Lucia’s eyebrows raised, and then she smiled. ”I’m glad you’re okay. I was afraid something like this would happen, if we stayed here. Gaspard’s friends still have it out for me. It’s possible Lady Floramonde is still holding a grudge over my “accidentally” killing her pet monkey. She wouldn’t have gone after you, though.”

Before he could reply, a guard captain followed by four of his men, hurried towards them.

“Our humblest apologies, Inquisitor, Lord Seeker. Your rooms are being searched as we speak, and the servants questioned. This never should have happened. We have informed the Marquise, and—“

Then Ambassador Montilyet arrived, both alarmed and livid, going immediately to Lucia. “My lady, are you all right? Maker, your robe! I will find out who is responsible, just give me two hours and four ravens. Someone is operating here who is not a known threat.”

“I am fine, as is Ameridan. I’m glad you weren’t targeted.”

“Yes, but, Your Worship—”

The guard captain tried to wedge in between the Inquisitor and her adviser. “Ambassador, we—” He quickly found himself subject to Lady Montilyet’s most hair-curlingly vicious glare, as she rounded on him.

“You! What use are you? Your men have failed to protect the Empress’ honored guests. Do not think I will not write every one of your superiors and make certain you and this group of incompetents are never assigned to the guest wing, ever again. Tell me your name Captain, and who is on the roster for this shift. You will all be held accountable.”

Before her ambassador could start in on the guard again, Lucia intervened. “Josephine, just let Briala handle it. Captain, tell the Marquise we’re going back to Skyhold. I can finish our business here another day.”

“Yes, my lady.” While Josephine’s voice had slid back into her usual polite chirp, the set of her mouth told that she would not let it go.

“You’re welcome to come with us, Ameridan. It might be for the best until we find out who sent the assassins.”

“I must admit, the reason I chose to convene here was because you would already be present, Lucia.” As he looked at her, her eyes widened slightly at him, and he felt his heart leap with a strange excitement. He realized, quietly then, that he didn't want to leave her side, now, or ever.

Ambassador Montilyet nodded. “An excellent idea, my lord. We have not had guests in ages. Perhaps we can arrange another meeting there, when we arrive.”


	5. Chapter 5

With letters of regret and notices sent out to all parties affected, Ameridan rode away from Halamshiral with the Inquisition the same afternoon.

Their trip took a little over three days, a short journey only because the weather remained calm and pleasant. The last portion, which wound through a well-worn mountain pass, up into the Frostbacks, was wickedly cold; when it came, the wind cut like knives. If one spoke too loudly here or sang, sometimes the words seemed to echo on for miles. The threat of a snow slide, however, kept them from entertaining each other with the acoustical properties of the mountain valley.

The stark beauty of these peaks always impressed him, but he looked forward to the shelter of the hold’s walls far above.

Skyhold, he discovered, was a wonder all its own. Some strange, ancient magic infused the fortress—for when he crossed the into the main courtyard, the air was warm. There were small trees rooted in the massive cobbles, and grass grew green there, in thin soil, which must have accumulated over centuries.

The moment the Inquisitor arrived, several members of her organization were waiting, perhaps some of whom were her advisers, or members of her inner circle. He recognized none of them, though one had the marks of a high-ranking officer, and a templar’s sword at his belt. Standing in front of the frowning officer, were two people in Inquisition uniforms who, black-eyed and bloody, looked like they’d recently been in a serious brawl.

The templar stepped forward, the moment Lucia dismounted. "If you have a moment, Your Worship, I've a matter that involves you personally and requires your input."

Lucia made a disgusted noise. “My input, Commander? Must be serious. Josephine, help Ameridan get settled in. I’m sorry, but I have to get this sorted out,” she said, her annoyance turning slightly mournful as she looked up at Ameridan.  

Ambassador Montilyet smiled and nodded. “As you wish, my lady. Follow me, my lord. I must warn that the rooms here are not warm nor particularly well-furnished.”

“Nor was the cave I spent ages in. I need only a place to lay my head.” He watched as Lucia hurriedly made towards the stairs to the main hall, her supplicants marching after.

The ambassador looked slightly alarmed. “Oh, we can do much better than such a place, my lord. We do have a few amenities, like the baths and the gardens, and a lovely view from the battlements. Hmm, yes. Lord Pavus has gone back to Tevinter, I see no reason not to reassign his room. It even has a bed.”

“You are too kind.” He had never met Lord Pavus, but knew Lucia had counted him among her close friends. The temporal magic the Tevinter had been researching greatly interested Ameridan, and to hear he'd already moved on was disappointing.

“It is no trouble, at all. I will have your things taken there, and a page sent when the room is ready. Please feel free to wander the grounds, my lord. It is past midday, so they have already cleared the daily luncheon in the great hall. However, you should be able to find refreshments at the tavern.”

"My thanks, ambassador," Ameridan said, and made his way there.

Lucia found him later, standing at ease out upon the lofty grey battlements above the Herald's Rest, watching the sunset. He’d brought a mug of spiced cider up with him, and despite the occasional strong draft from the surrounding snowy peaks, he felt quite warm. The people here were overwhelmingly friendly, but they looked at him with a slight tinge of awe he couldn't dispel.

Coming to lean against the wall next to him, Lucia sighed, sounding exhausted. “Feels like it goes on forever, doesn’t it? The western desert is like that, too, stark and beautiful, but I think I prefer the mountains,” she said.

“It is mesmerizing. I have to admire, too, the ingenuity it must have taken to create such a safe haven so high up. Did you manage to make everyone happy, earlier?” She had a certain tension to her aura, but many factors, like the amount of sleep she'd had, or the ache of an old wound could affect it.

“The Commander, yes; two of his former lieutenants, no. They’ll be in the cells for two weeks and then sent back to wherever they came from. I could have had them flogged like Cullen recommended, but I’ve never thought that kind of punishment effective in the long run.”

“Might I ask what the conflict was over?”

She gave him an awkward grin. “Theft of small personal items. Namely my... things. They got too greedy and got caught in my quarters by… Wait, why was she in there, too? Well anyway, a friend of mine kicked the crap out of them.”

He shook his head in disgust. “Your own men. How disappointing. I’d definitely have had them flogged.” Such disrespect would have carried far more severe penalties in his time.

“My dignity doesn’t demand a slice of their hides, I just want them gone.” Lucia shook her head. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“A raven arrived here with a message from Briala not long after we left the Winter Palace. She says she found the culprit who sent the assassins. We needn’t worry on that front. It was Lord Palomar, one of Gaspard’s lackeys. He’s dead now, it seems.”

His eyebrows raised. “That was quick.”

“I think the Marquise wants to use us, so it’s in her interest to keep our continued goodwill. More specifically, she wants to use you. That was what we were talking about when you arrived at the Winter Palace.”

“Oh, how so?”

“A title, a place among the peerage of Orlais. She wants to start creating appointments in the Dales and handing more power over to our people, gradually. Your service to Orlais makes it easy to frame the offer as an earned reward. Though, there’s still the matter of you being a mage. Unlike the Dalish, Orlesians don't let mages have political power.”

“Nor do I particularly want it.” Ameridan set down his mug on the stone beside him and crossed his arms. “That was always the fear, that the south would become another Tevinter.” He paced. Cassandra had extensively discussed the current methods for policing the use of magic with him. They both understood there had to be significant restrictions to the use of magic, education in its practice, and stern punishment for its misuse, but utter enslavement of mages was never the Seekers purpose. “I’m not sure what use a title would be, in any case.”

“I think she has plans for your family to assume an estate in the Dales. It’s on your ancestral lands in what we used to call the Emerald March. We call it the Emerald Graves, now. I’ve been in the area before. There are only ruins.”

He turned back to her and nodded. “Ah, so a title which I would be forced to transfer to my heirs, immediately, given my magic. Even if I were inclined to accept, would the aristocracy allow such a precedent? Does Levinia know of this? How would we hold on to it? Atop that, I’m not sure I want to support the Empire such as it is. Celene’s forebears stole from us a gift from Andraste herself. Such disregard of our Lady’s will is, frankly, complete and utter heresy.”

Lucia looked surprised to see him so incensed, but she nodded in agreement. “Her argument is that the Dales are already lost. She believes that the Empire, such as it is, must be changed by us from within, because the humans will never give over power willingly. It seems she has some manner of resource that only elves will ever have access to. I’m suspicious, since she refuses to tell me what—she’s not a mage, but it has the marks of dangerous magic. I think it’s how she’s cowed the aristocracy. Whatever it is, it must be a significant threat.”

The more she explained what she knew of Briala's plan, the less he liked it. “And that is why I cannot in good conscience accept. I understand there might be those in Clan Ghilain who are amenable to discussion with her. They could benefit from holding the land, but I'll hear no more of it until we know what this 'resource' of hers is. I don’t want to send them to their deaths.”

“Very well. Whatever you decide, you have my full support.”

“I appreciate it. While I don’t wish to disappoint any hopes that were pinned upon my reappearance, I truly hate everything to do with the Grand Game. I used to rely upon Telana to help me navigate it. She had a gift for dealing with difficult people—and I am including myself there, by the way.”

“I wouldn't; you might be a little old-fashioned, but I've enjoyed getting to know you.” Lucia’s smile was teasing, and his chest gave a flutter at it.

“As have I, you. If I did accept the offer, I'd have to go see what's left. There was always good hunting, and if the mines are still producing… It would be a good week’s travel, but the time would pass more quickly if I had a companion.”

She gave him a considering look, a small smile and then nodded. “There’s a dragon I’ve been meaning to take care of in that area. If there ever comes a day you wish to go, and I am free to take a small break from closing rifts, I’d be glad to accompany you.”

“Are there still a lot of rifts?” The Breach had far-ranging effects. People in taverns and town squares all across Orlais, yet spoke of the damage done when so many tears to the Veil formed at once.

“Yes. I’ll be traveling to the Free Marches, soon, to deal with them. And then Antiva. I wish sometimes it could just be done with, but I have to help.” Lifting her hand up between them, the mark on it flared slightly.

Ameridan could see veins of green energy streaking up from it, past her wrist. “That looks painful.”

“It is.”

“May I see it?”

She held her hand out palm up, to rest in his grasp.

Leaning in, examining around the Anchor with a healing spell meant to delve the severity of a regular injury, her hand looked in poor shape. He could see a deteriorating shielding spell, meant to contain the mark’s energy worked into her flesh. Whoever had cast it must have been quite powerful, but the spell was slowly fading, degraded by the sheer intensity of the Anchor. There was not enough of the spell left for him to try to replicate it. He hated to speculate, but if they did nothing, eventually she’d lose use of her hand.

He switched over to a different healing spell, which might assuage her raw nerves, at least, for the moment. It wasn’t much but—

“It’s getting worse, isn’t it?”

Ameridan could only offer a grim nod. “Magic or medicine might stop the pain for a time, but yes, it’s becoming unstable.”

She cursed and shook her head. “I had a friend who kept it under control, but once Corypheus was dealt with... I suppose everyone has to reclaim their own agendas, after the threats to them are subdued.”

“Sadly, it’s often the case.” He realized then, looking at her, hating that she was in pain, he'd finished casting and was still holding her hand.

Lucia’s expression crumpled, and she closed the distance between them.

Pulling her to him, Ameridan wrapped his arms around her shoulders tightly. He felt her shudder as a desolate sob broke from her throat. Not entirely certain what set off the shift in her mood, but suspecting a combination of stress and sheer loneliness, he held her steady. Mumbling words of comfort, he kissed her forehead as she wept, and hugged her close.

He held her until twilight, when it became increasingly plain that although she'd stopped weeping, she had no intention of leaving his embrace.

“Shall I walk you to your room?” He tried to temper his worried expression with calm, but she wasn't looking at him, her face buried against his neck.

“Only if you’ll stay there with me, tonight.” Her voice sounded worn, but the invitation was steady and certain.

He frowned in consternation, for Compassion had warned him. She wanted him to help her forget. “I care for you, Lucia, but I’m not sure that’s best idea. If anything more is to happen between us, I'd want it to be in a moment of joy.” Denying her comfort did not sit well with him, but vulnerable as she was, it felt too much like taking advantage.

She sighed heavily and then looked up at him her face pale and wan. “Sit by me until I fall asleep, then. I don’t want to be alone right now. That’s all.”

“Very well.” Ameridan put his arm around her, and they walked towards the great hall, far below.

Her quarters were dim, lit by a single candelabra near the bed. The large tower room, though in shadow, felt like a chantry hall; it smelled warm like one, too—beeswax from the candles, faint wood smoke from the banked fireplace, old stone, the curious pleasing scent of many books. He thought it quite a comfortable room for how high the ceiling lofted.

Lucia laid down on her great four-poster bed, and fell asleep almost immediately, still in her traveling leathers. The walk up the many stairs, seemed to have sapped the last of her strength.

Sitting on the side of the bed, he unlaced her boots to tug them off her feet. Then he put out the candles and left her to rest.

Although they saw one another several times each day, for the next three days, when he tried to engage her, she refused to speak of what passed between them. She seemed embarrassed at herself, and sometimes wouldn’t meet his gaze—though, she would let him heal her hand.

It took Lucia until the fourth day, when he had to depart and return to the Seekers, to reach out to him, again.

She arrived, barely in time to see him off. About to mount his hart, Ameridan heard the cadence of her boots hurriedly descending the stairs from the main hall as she ran up behind him. Outfitted as he was in full armor, her fierce embrace wasn’t near as pleasant as it could have been—nonetheless, he quickly spun to face her.

Feeling a keen stab of regret, looking into her eyes, Ameridan shook his head at her. “You know it will be months, yes?”

Tomorrow, she would depart, as well, for the north, to close more rifts and to see her children.

“Just kiss me, Ameridan.”

Despite the fact they were standing out in the middle of Skyhold’s courtyard, where all could see them, he leaned down and did as she asked, most ardently.


	6. Chapter 6

The whole of the summer, and several increasingly flirtatious letters passed between them, before they settled on a place and time to see one another again.

A fete would be held at the much-restored Citadelle du Corbeau, for the anniversary of Marquise Briala’s birthday. Like all Orlesian parties, the esteemed guests would make it not just a gathering of friends and family, but a vehicle for the Game.

Lucia had informed him in her most recent correspondence, that the Inquisition agreed to a request from Empress Celene to bolster security. The small force sent would ostensibly act as the Inquisitor’s honor guard, too, as she would also be in attendance. Ameridan’s business at the Montsimmard Circle of Magi would have concluded by then, and Lucia asked if he might possibly find himself free to join her there as additional support. The threat of demons and arcane horrors spontaneously manifesting in such a place, was very real.  

He'd finished writing his reply, almost before he'd finished reading the message. Uncertain precisely when their paths might intersect again, Ameridan fervently hoped neither his, nor Lucia's particular talents at combat, would be necessary over the course of the evening—and yes, of course he'd be there.

Alone, he crossed Dirthavaren—called the Exalted Plains, now, though he refused to acknowledge that change of name in particular. Like most of the Dales, it had altered physically a great deal from what he remembered, although, some ruins there were old even in his time. The pillars of rock and jagged hills and cliffs were much the same.

The recently concluded civil war left many scars on the land, but as he passed through, he saw villages being rebuilt and fields reclaimed. Regular Inquisition patrols kept the roads clear of the odd possessed corpse and bandits, giving relief to those on the fringes of the Empire. Because of their efforts, trade could pass through the region, without the guarantee of being accosted by demons. One day, the Inquisition would have to pull out of the area, regardless, for he thought it unlikely Orlais would stand for such occupation forever.

It was clearly a war zone, though, marred by acres of burned timber, the extensive remains of dug out fortifications criss-crossing it. Magic could move the earth back into place, but there were so many bodies, unburnt, unclaimed—the Veil was too thin there to make it worth the trouble. The farmers who wanted to work the land had to make do with shovels and ploughs.

Naturally, the Orlesian Court thought such a remote and doubtlessly haunted area was ideal for a birthday party.

Riding in to his destination at mid-afternoon, Ameridan smiled to see the silhouette of the old fortress across the river, when it came into view. With its white stone walls and many towers, it still had something of its old grandeur. Within, would be the one person he cared to see there.

Four great wolf statues yet guarded the entrance of the Citadelle, and the massive main tower stood sentinel, not collapsed like some of the smaller spires. Evidence of ongoing repair work to the the fortress lay everywhere, the most damaged areas cordoned off and concealed. The closer he got, the more clear it was to him that large portions of it were merely a shell. Considering the other ruins he’d seen, it remained remarkably intact.

An elven stablehand took his hart’s reins for him as he entered the courtyard, and he handed the boy a silver to look after her and keep an eye on his things. The mount had been a gift from Lucia. She wanted him to come to her with all haste when he could—and so he had.

Permitted past the guards bracketing the front of the walk, leading up, once he'd stated his title and that he was with the Inquisitor, they directed Ameridan towards the party. Appearing out of the dizzying swirl of masked guests and servants, an elven youth in purple and gold Valmont livery showed him towards a slightly better-dressed fellow holding a writing board with a list.

The seneschal scrutinized Ameridan's gold-stamped invitation for forgery—perhaps longer than the person who had gone in before him. "Will you need a separate room, my lord, or..." The man's thin eyebrow rose, as if hoping that Ameridan would give answer to whether the rumors of a dalliance with the Inquisitor were true. 

"I haven't decided if I'm staying the evening, yet. I'll send for my belongings to be brought up, once I know for certain." Depending on how the Orlesians treated them tonight, he might find himself sweeping Lucia up off her feet and carrying her someplace less oppressive and full of spies. 

"Of course, my lord."

Shaking his head, Ameridan followed a pathway lined by backlit peach-colored gauze curtains and wreaths of white gardenias, to the grand hall.

Surprisingly, inside it looked much like it had long ago—colorful banners streaming down from the walls, great fragrant bouquets of white flowers everywhere, perhaps a hundred calculating nobles milling over the tile mosaics, harried servants carrying trays among them, great brass lanterns lighting all from above. A small group of musicians played soft music up on the balcony, but nothing anyone could dance to.

Easy to pick out, as she was one of the few people there not wearing a mask, Lucia stood on a dais with the Empress at the far end of the hall.

At first, he thought she looked at ease, conversing with Celene. She kept her arms folded, though, and her left hand tucked under her elbow. It didn’t matter that she wore gloves, even from a distance he could see livid green lines through the material.

She’d been watching the entrance, and her bland, composed expression lifted noticeably when she spotted him.

It took a great deal of discipline for him not to run across the room to her, but there were formalities—the people here were all playing the Game. They’d take any excuse to degrade him, trip him up for their own amusement. Composing himself as if for battle, he let the court herald announce his arrival. Once all eyes were upon him, Ameridan made his way through the tangle of idling nobles to take his turn to bow before the Empress.

“Your Radiance,” he said, giving her the sort of bow he'd once accorded Drakon.

Every part of Celene’s white dress held some manner of symbol or political statement, from the subtle green and gold details in her bodice, to the golden sunburst at her back. He did not have the context to understand the subtler bits woven into it, but implicit was her support of Briala.

“We welcome you, Inquisitor Ameridan. The Empire hopes you know that we are grateful for your service to Orlais, in holding back the god-dragon Hakkon.” She'd used his original title deliberately, perhaps to invoke greater respect, and make certain he wasn't confused for anyone else. It didn't trouble him, but he could see Lucia narrowing her eyes.

“Your Radiance, I am honored.”

Celene nodded gravely. “Indeed. There will be a ceremony in honor of you and your fallen companions, at the Exalted Council held in Halamshiral in six weeks. I hope you will attend.”

“I shall, Your Radiance.” His eyes went to Lucia, whose mouth formed a thin line; he wasn’t certain what Celene had said to warrant such displeasure, but he intended to find out. “Inquisitor, if I might have moment of your time?” Ameridan asked. He wanted much more than a moment, but they had to catch up, and at least attempt to socialize with the guests, before they could have a proper reunion.

“Of course. Your Radiance, if you’ll excuse me.” She gave a small bow to Celene, who assented, and she descended the stone stairs.

“Do you mind if we get something to drink?” he asked with a grin. Being on the road left him parched, and the guests were not so into their cups, that the seneschal would have stopped serving the good wine.

Lucia chuckled, not looking at him, but watching the guests as if trying to keep track of someone. “Probably wise. Briala’s heading towards us like a wolf wending through trees.” They managed to catch a passing maid, and both of them took a crystal flute from her tray.

“Are you alright? I know in your last letter you were hoping you could find someone to help with the mark while you were in Rialto.” Ameridan had been hoping the same.

“No luck, just excessive amounts of elfroot. My herbalist has been having me try some new concoctions for the pain, but it doesn’t stop it spreading.”

He felt his heart sink. “I’ll look at it again, once we’re alone. There wasn’t anything useful in the Montsimmard Circle’s library, either. I had hoped—” Madame de Fer was of great help while he researched, for she cared for Lucia, too, but neither of them could pin down a permanent solution.

Her expression was one of resignation. “Everyone has done what they could. It won’t matter soon. Enough of the rifts are closed, and I will be meeting soon with both Ferelden and Orlais, along with the Divine. We’re going to decide if the Inquisition is needed any longer.”

So that was what the Council Celene had mentioned was for.

“If you're needed? I thought—”

He could inquire no further, for the Marquise was upon them.

Thus, they found themselves intertwined with whatever labyrinthine scheme Briala had for the night. It seemed to center around simply having them be there—two powerful, competent elves who, short of sending assassins, had secure positions adjacent to the Chantry. If anyone among the nobles present thought them insolent for moving in the same circles as those whose domination they threatened, none made gestures so blatant as to require a duel.

Ameridan bit back his aggravation many times during the evening. He thought it fortunate he had both a sense of humor and things he needed to protect. He did his best, too, to emulate Lucia, who could smile and nod, even through her pain. When he could not deflect the occasional barbed comment, he whispered lines from the Chant, asked for blessings from the Creators.

 _And Shartan looked upon the Prophet Andraste/_ _And said: "The People will set ourselves free."_

Eventually, the Empress and the Marquise disappeared like smoke in the wind from the tapering celebration. He thought it had to be near midnight, but their duty done, he and Lucia could decamp, too.

Together they slipped into an alcove outside the hall, where he guessed there had once been a statue. There, alone finally, much of their restraint evaporated as they embraced. Kissing her was just as invigorating as he remembered, and as such, welcome, for he had been feeling quite drained.

“Shall we retire?” He muttered, between kisses, for not long after they started canoodling, her deft fingers were plucking at his belt.

"Sleepy?"

He couldn't help but chuckle. "Hardly. I'd simply prefer not to do it in the hall."

“My room or yours?” Mischief twinkled in her eyes, while she circled her arms around him, again.

“Yours. I didn't get one.” And now, like the nosy seneschal had suspected, there was no reason to.

“Sloppy of them. I will be sure to complain.”

He shook his head. "I do not want to see another face but yours until I must leave.” He wasn’t sure his heart could beat any faster, and he feared to lose his temper at any outside interference.

Lucia smiled up at him, still playful. “I want you to see far more than just my face, _vhenan_.”

Ameridan blushed so fiercely at her then, that Lucia laughed in delight. With all speed, she whisked him away to some fair haven of privacy.


	7. Chapter 7

Lucia caught up against him immediately with a hungry grin, once they were in her room. Laughing, Ameridan wrapped his arms around her waist to swing her around, and they continued where they’d left off.

As they inched towards the bed, though, she pulled away from him abruptly, drawing her breath in sharp and fast like she was in pain.

Startled and panting from the kiss she’d broken, Ameridan belatedly remembered the Anchor. “Are you all right?” He watched her shake her hand at her side, like she was trying to recover from a shock.

The mood broken, it seemed she looked everywhere but at him, and then changed the subject. “It’s nothing. We should check the room. The Inquisition has charge of security, and a few of my people were working in secret here tonight, too, but we must be careful.”

She wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t understand why she insisted on trying to pretend her hand didn’t hurt. Keeping up the appearance of an impervious leader might have become habitual for her, but she needed to know when to put the mask away.

“Ah, of course. I had wondered about that gentleman who bumped into you, this evening. You might have warned me—I nearly cast upon him.” Such a display would have been a scandal neither of them could excuse; he’d only held back because Lucia was too close. A message must have passed between them.

She nodded, solemnly, despite the flush on her cheeks. “I should have, I’m sorry. There have to have been agents I didn’t recognize, too, like whoever Leliana sent to watch my back.”

“The blonde elf? You should talk to her. I picked him out with little difficulty.” Their people who lived in the cities acted deferential and submissive when surrounded by humans. Even in servant garb the man had moved around the crowd more like an outside observer than an attendant at the fete.

“I thought he was Briala’s. Didn’t know the hand signal.” Lucia flicked her fingers up under her ear in a measured way, which could easily be mistaken for scratching an itch or brushing back a lock of hair. She sighed. “I guess they do now, whoever he works for.”

Ameridan frowned, for there were many factions to monitor, but he’d thought he’d pinned certain truths down. “Aren’t you and Briala the only ones who use our people as spies?” His understanding was that elves who lived among the humans, these days, were rarely trusted with anything that would let them undermine the nobility, nor allowed to carry weapons. Though there were those like Briala, who had worked her way around many restrictions. Most people didn’t have such close ties to the Empress, however.

“No, the Divine does, and the Qunari do, too. This event might be obscure for the Qunari, but then again Bull says they have agents seeded everywhere. I must talk to Charter when I get back to Skyhold.”

“Do you believe there’s a credible threat here?” The assassination attempt at the Winter Palace months ago, was not an exception. There were people who wanted him dead only slightly less than they did her. However, his desire for her had hit that strange fever point, where he felt quite prepared to fight off armies if one might show up to interfere.

She shook her head and hugged him once more. “I will trust my people, for the time being. I need to have you to myself for one night, else I will go mad.”

“Good—I was thinking the same thing.” He grinned, and she nuzzled up against his cheek reassuringly.

Once they left this place, she would to head to Val Royeaux to oversee the signing of a treaty, while he had to meet with a group of mages ensconced in an otherwise abandoned chateau a day’s ride away. The mages were caring for a pair of former Tranquil, whom he had to help test the recovery of. Divine Victoria, Cassandra and Grand Enchanter Vivienne all were eager for the report, and he could not shrug off the appointment to serve his own interests.

If all went well, he would see Lucia at the Imperial Palace in a week. Though their time would still not be entirely their own.

There, they would observe and help mediate another round of discussions about how to handle the recent influx of newly manifested mages. Many were mere children, cast out of their homes, after the Breach made their magic awaken. With so few surviving teachers and so many damaged facilities, most had nowhere to go and few people qualified to help them learn to control their power. It was a very dangerous situation, which, until the fighting had ceased, they could not address at all and had already cost young lives. The issues they faced were far bigger than any single man or woman could handle alone. Hopefully, he and Lucia would be forgiven for taking time to distract themselves from it for a moment.

First things first, though, they had to secure their room.

Lucia took a peek under the bed and bedclothes for anything unpleasant hiding there, and behind the hanging on the wall—which, incidentally, covered an unglazed window overlooking the courtyard, just large enough for someone to wriggle in or out of. He warded the already latched door with a basic alarm spell, and then the window. The spell would alert him if anyone crossed either threshold while he was otherwise distracted, or asleep.

The second he finished his work, he pulled Lucia back into his arms. She kissed him like she thought he might disappear at any moment, and he tried to prove to her he wouldn’t. The eerie green glow of the Anchor flickered in the periphery of his vision, as if to taunt him. She still hadn’t complained, but held her left hand away as much as she could, to the side, grasping gingerly with it while she disrobed.

Lucia noticed his worried glances, and gave him a conflicted grin, hiding her hand behind her. “It doesn’t matter if you try to heal it anymore, the burning won’t go away.”

Nodding, he held his hand out to her. “I want to try something different.”

She gave him her hand, with no further protest than a resigned sigh. Ameridan tugged her glove off, carefully, and tossed it aside on the bed to cradle her slim, deft fingers. The Anchor’s harmful corrosion went well past her wrist, now.

“I don’t suppose you could do something about the glow, too?” She snickered, and he smiled back, trying not to look grim.

“Unfortunately, no. This won’t last all night, but should numb the ache.” A localized shielding spell, which interfered with the senses, giving respite, but dangerous as one would feel nothing if the area received further injury.

“A numbing spell?”

“Yes. Telana taught it to me after Haron and I had a run-in with a Highland Ravager. The blisters…” An unpleasant memory, to say the least, but he’d kept both his eyebrows, unlike Haron. He felt a pang of guilt, remembering how he’d laughed at his friend at the time.

“Ouch, that sounds helpful. We killed one of those in the Emprise. Beautiful beast, breath like a forge—I wonder if I still have some of the leather. I’ve been meaning to have a set of armor made for you.”

Ameridan gave her an amused look. “You’ve already outfitted me quite well, _ma lath_.” In fact, she’d presented him with gifts of items made from Hakkon’s bright blue hide, perhaps a few weeks after they’d met. He’d worn none of it, but for a small amulet which charmed against the cold—he’d been sensitive to low temperatures, since his ordeal. More recently she’d given him the fine hart he’d ridden here.

He had a gift for her, but it would require returning to Halamshiral to give.

She smiled, conciliatory, tugging his collar. “I didn’t admire you then, the same way I do now—and, I learned you prefer less ostentatious colors. I still have so much to learn about you.”

And he, her. Maker-willing there would be time for many pleasing discoveries between them. “Lucia—”

She shook her head. “Heal me, and we will speak of it later. I very much want to give you all of my attention.”

Sighing, Ameridan sat down with her on the bed, and cradled her arm in his, between them. Gently, mustering his power, he wove a small field of gold-tinted magical energy around the affected part of her limb.

“Remember, this won’t heal, just shield you from the pain for a time. I wish I could do something more permanent.”

Much of the magic he knew, he’d learned to eliminate threats to his loved ones, and to himself, quickly and efficiently; to hunt evil things, before they became a problem. The mass of ancient magic bound to her, was ingrained in her spirit, not just her body. Any attempt to remove it would most likely kill her. It might kill her eventually, anyway, but they still had time to seek a cure. He prayed they’d have the time.

The field shimmered over the veins of green, while her fingers went limp and nerveless. She looked at him, wide-eyed, as if surprised it worked. “I—I wouldn’t want to fight one-handed, but you said it wouldn’t last.”

Ameridan’s heart rose to see such relief on her face, though he could sense the Mark’s energy already eroding his spell. Best return to their previous endeavors. “A few hours, perhaps. What of the rest of you?” He brushed her cheek with his fingers, gently.

She leaned in, chuckling low in her throat. “Shockingly, the rest of me can think of little else but having you closer. And you?” Before he could answer, she undid the buckles at his side with her good hand, fast as a scholar could flip pages.

Nuzzling at her neck, he unfastened her sash. “I have only the concerns an old hunter, with a lovely young maid in his arms, ought to.”

Lucia laughed, again, this time heartily enough to make her whole body shake with it. “Young maid? I’ve almost forty years.”

“You carry them well.” Other than the faint cast of world-weariness about her eyes, and knowing she had adolescent children, she could have passed for a decade younger; if they subtracted his time in stasis, Ameridan was over a decade older. That he could keep up with her, told him he hadn’t lost all the vigor of his youth. His ordeal with Hakkon, however, had injured him in ways he’d yet to comprehend fully.

She pursed her lips, then grinned at his flattery. “I don’t mind making love to an old hunter. Though, you’ve already caught me. I suppose there’s no challenge left.”

“Ah, but there is.” Her sash fell from his fingers, and she made quick work of her coat buttons, shrugging it off to the floor. He added his shirt to the pile a moment later.

“Oh?”

"Finding all the knives you've hidden about your person, of course," he teased. He'd already discovered three, and Lucia extracted two from her hair, when she took her braids down. There were a few more.

She tugged her long-sleeved chemise shirt over her head, exposing the slim knives she wore strapped to her arms. Lucia unfastened one herself, but because of the spell on her left hand, she had to let him do the other. Ameridan set each blade aside for her on the nightstand, hilts pointing towards the bed, should she need to grab one quickly.

Bare, and sitting half in his naked lap, her longing eyes traced every line of muscle, every ragged scar rent in his flesh. Solemness weighted her gaze, as if in having him she was already preparing herself for another loss. Ameridan wanted to kiss every part of her, in reassurance, from temple to ankle, along the shining lines he could see where blades had marked her. He couldn’t fault her, for he’d had many similar flashes of fear at opening his own heart again. All he could do, was love her as much as she would let him, for as long as he was able.

She leaned forward, and they fell together rolling in an embrace, laughing, both excited and relieved. Less by design than happenstance, she ended up on top of him, grinning as she knelt astride his hips. Already exhausted from a long night, he looked up at her, content, sighing at her light touches. He caressed the silken skin of her back, her sides, smooth hips and legs, every part of her he could reach.

Touching her so, disoriented him in a way. His flesh remembered another, more familiar figure; expected her to be softer, slighter, to ease against him with no hesitation. Arched over him, Lucia was trembling and nervous as he, likely overwhelmed by similar memories of her own.

“Are you all right?” he asked, unable to keep his breath from shaking.

“Fine, fine. It’s been a while. You?” Though the candlelight flickered low, he could see her face, flushed and beautiful, her eyes too bright.

“Better than I’ve a right to be.” Ameridan grinned, and she laughed, leaning in to kiss him again. He lost any thought he might have had to follow. The night proved calm, they were as one, and he intended to do nothing but love her into blessed bliss.

 

* * *

 

Ameridan’s dreams that night were tumultuous.

The Marquise's exclusive party had drawn spirits close to watch, and they found much in the Orlesians’ machinations to emulate and copy. Though still preoccupied with a battle which took place a few years previous, many of the Fade’s inhabitants brought the night’s celebrations into the chaos, too.

While he quietly meditated, the surrounding dream shifted and bent his memories into strange amalgams. For the moment, it took the form of the fortress itself, and he sat cross-legged on a bluff near the riverbank outside. He preferred being in wide open spaces these days, if given the choice, and would guide his dreams to that end as best he could—another bit of magic Telana once taught him, that they could share their days and their nights.

Exploring his dreams didn’t hold the same fascination it once had, when he could seek her out in them. To invoke her memory had become much less painful, though.

Often, in his dreams when he first woke from stasis, a figment of Telana would visit, leaving him to wake in despair, making him doubt how long he could go on without her. Time was the only thing that helped. That, and having important work to do, intriguing people to meet. It had superseded his dreams of their life together, in recent days, blended with events more immediate and terrifying and new. Lucia had impressed herself onto his psyche, so quickly, determined to sharpen her knives by their dream campfire, holding court in other fragments, looking up at him at times in admiration, and, in others, down in transparent pity. In dreams he might tease out her secrets, calm the echoes of their grief, which, at first, seemed the strongest bond between them.

Tonight, he could feel Lucia’s sleeping presence, nearby—unusual for a non-mage, but he'd never slept so close to her before. The Anchor seemed to create a field in the Fade, the area directly around her too bright to look at, the ether nearby, raw and green.

Few spirits ventured close, but for the host her title attracted. Faith, Hope, Fear, Respect, Command, these hovered neither near, nor far—close enough he could sense their natures and the mostly positive influence they had on the area of the Fade they were in. Fields of white flowers with the odd bone to trip over, instead of brown, dry-grass fields of corpses; echoes of songbirds and snufleurs, instead of crows and wolves.

He woke to pinpricks of sunlight shining through the makeshift curtain. Like tiny stars, spots of light danced along their tangled forms.

Lucia sprawled against his side, her left arm draped over him. Her hair, free of its usual braids, spread out behind her in an undignified blonde tangle; it begged to be stroked back into order, but doing so would doubtlessly wake her. Their legs intertwined under the thick, quilted blanket, which, at the moment, just barely covered her rump. He’d stolen much of their covers in the night.

Ameridan contented himself with admiring her in such a peaceful state—once more in wonder they’d come to know each other at all. If she and her companions hadn’t worked quickly to heal him, he’d have never seen the light of day again. If no new and disastrous event disrupted their lives, soon he’d get to wake up like this with her more often.

Though, that came with a price, too.

He’d divided himself and his loyalties too greatly in the past. Given the choice of what to do with the life gifted back to him, it had become increasingly clear his place was not with the Seekers of Truth, nor the Inquisition. If he wanted to help his people, he would have to devote all of his time to it.

Lucia’s eyes fluttered open slightly, his small, wakeful movements enough to rouse her. She wriggled up flush against him, and slid her leg over his hip, then blinked at him, driving the most troublesome of his worries from his mind.

“Why did I wake up to you looking like you ate a sour berry, _ma lath_?” Sleep had left her voice husky, and low, and very alluring.

“To be frank, I don’t want to leave you, or this bed. I have seen how brutally fickle fate can be, and we might not have another day like this once we part.”

“Come back to Skyhold with me when our business is done, then. Cassandra knows you’re leaving the Seekers.”

He snorted a laugh, and ran his hand down her side, pulling her close to cuddle and inhale her warmth. “And she is none too pleased about it. Says my apprentice is too green. He’s eighteen, harrowed, and has lived through two wars already. I believe him competent.” Ameridan would still have an advisory position if he confirmed his decision to retire, but he’d be abandoning a great deal of power, for formidable responsibility elsewhere. Work which might never bear fruit he’d live to see.

Lucia brushed her fingers across his cheek and tucked a lock of his hair back behind his ear. “I don’t blame her. I never want you to leave, either. But it’s not as if she’ll want for company.”

“True, but she’s disconnected from all news but what the ravens bring her. She’s fuming you didn’t tell her yourself.”

Days before he’d left for the south, just after morning meditations, Cassandra confronted him about certain salacious rumors that had come to her attention. Otherwise reliable sources of information had to be misleading her, for how could he possibly be romantically entangled with Lucia? He’d hoped it would come up while Lucia was present, but there was no point in hiding it.

“She’s always incensed… I will write her. Did she have anything else to say?”

Ameridan gave her a playful grin. “That you’re a lucky woman, and she wishes us both to be happy.”

“Liar.”

He amended his statement. “She wants us to be happy. I am fairly certain she would murder me barehanded, though, if I were to, in her words 'ever give you cause to weep'. You have a devoted friend.”

“Ah. She said that did she?” Lucia’s eyes looked distant for a moment, and then she sighed.

He nodded, curious at what had crossed her mind. “I assured her I would do my best not to. I think she’s more cross she will have to take on the half of the administrivia I handled.”

“Paperwork is much less exciting than hacking at demons, it's true.”

Ameridan tapped a finger on his chin, having found a good moment to bring up a small issue within the Seekers he’d been considering. “Her support staff is bare bones, but it doesn’t have to be—you might send her one of your agents. Perhaps that fellow with bard training who’s worked with the Chantry clerics. Someone who can handle living ascetically and has a nose for danger.” He caught a flicker of amusement in her expression as she made certain connections.

“Oddly enough, I know a handsome fellow who exactly fits your description. Remind me to ask Cassandra if she might appreciate such a favor, when she comes down for the Exalted Council. We can discuss everything in detail, then. For now, I must make some time for a more pressing personal matter.” Lucia smiled up at him fondly, beautifully, and a little smugly, for she once again had his full attention.

“Oh? Is this matter anything I can help with?” In quick succession, he pressed his lips to her forehead, then her cheek, then more firmly, her mouth.

When he drew away, Lucia pulled him back. “Yes. You are, in fact, the only one.”

**Author's Note:**

> Elvish terms & phrases
> 
> ma falon - my friend  
> hahren - elder; wise person  
> Andaran Atish'an - welcome to this place of peace  
> Ar'garas Atisha'an - I come to this place in peace  
> da'len - young one; child  
> lethallan - familiar person (feminine variant)  
> ma serannas - thank you; my thanks  
> vhenan - heart; my heart


End file.
